The Historical Tales of King Arthur, Vol. 1 E-Book

Charles Morris

• Herausgeber: Jazzybee Verlag
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 433

Beschreibung

The Arthur of the legends has quite stepped out of the historic page and become a hero without time or place in any real world, a king of the imagination, the loftiest figure in that great outgrowth of chivalric romance which formed the favorite fictitious literature of Europe during three or four of the mediæval centuries. The ballads and romances in which the King Arthur of mediæval story figures as the hero have here been transformed into easily readable prose and thus offer pleasant and enjoyable stories to us now. This is volume one out of two.

Leseprobe

The Historical Tales of King Arthur

Vol. 1

CHARLES MORRIS

The Historical Tales of King Arthur, Vol. 1

Jazzybee Verlag Jürgen Beck

86450 Altenmünster, Loschberg 9

Deutschland

ISBN: 9783849648329

www.jazzybee-verlag.de

[email protected]

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTORY.1

KING ARTHUR AND THE  KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE.1

BOOK I. HOW ARTHUR WON THE THRONE.1

BOOK II. THE DEEDS OF BALIN.1

BOOK III. THE TREASON OF MORGAN LE FAY.1

BOOK IV. LANCELOT OF THE LAKE.1

BOOK V. THE ADVENTURES OF BEAUMAINS.1

BOOK VI. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE  AND THE FAIR ISOLDE.1

BOOK VII. HOW TRISTRAM CAME TO CAMELOT.1

INTRODUCTORY.

Geoffrey of Monmouth, the famous chronicler of legendary British history, tells us,—in reference to the time when the Celtic kings of Britain were struggling against the Saxon invaders,—that "there appeared a star of wonderful magnitude and brightness, darting its rays, at the end of which was a globe of fire in the form of a dragon, out of whose mouth issued two rays; one of which seemed to stretch itself beyond the extent of Gaul, the other towards the Irish Sea, and ended in two lesser rays." He proceeds to say, that Merlin, the magician, being called on to explain this portent, declared that the dragon represented Uther, the brother of King Ambrose, who was destined himself soon to become king; that the ray extending towards Gaul indicated a great son, who should conquer the Gallic Kingdoms; and that the ray with two lesser rays indicated a daughter, whose son and grandson should successively reign over Britain. Uther, in consequence, when he came to the throne, had two gold dragons made, one of which he placed in the cathedral of Winchester, which it brightly illuminated; the other he kept, and from it gained the name of Pendragon. The powerful ray represented his great son Arthur, destined to become the flower of chivalry, and the favorite hero of mediæval romance.

 This is history as Geoffrey of Monmouth understood it, but hardly so in the modern sense, and Arthur remains as mystical a figure as Achilles, despite the efforts of various writers to bring him within the circle of actual kings. After the Romans left Britain, two centuries passed of whose history hardly a coherent shred remains. This was the age of Arthur, one of the last champions of Celtic Britain against the inflowing tide of Anglo-Saxon invasion. That there was an actual Arthur there is some, but no very positive, reason to believe. After all the evidence has been offered, we still seem to have but a shadowy hero before us, "a king of shreds and patches," whose history is so pieced out with conjecture that it is next to impossible to separate its facts from its fancies.

The Arthur of the legends, of the Welsh and Breton ballads, of the later Chansons de Geste, of Malory and Tennyson, has quite stepped out of the historic page and become a hero without time or place in any real world, a king of the imagination, the loftiest figure in that great outgrowth of chivalric romance which formed the favorite fictitious literature of Europe during three or four of the mediæval centuries. Charlemagne, the leading character in the earlier romances of chivalry, was, in the twelfth century, replaced by Arthur, a milder and more Christian-like hero, whose adventures, with those of his Knights of the Round Table, delighted the tenants of court and castle in that marvel-loving and uncritical age. That the stories told of him are all fiction cannot be declared. Many of them may have been founded on fact. But, like the stones of a prehistoric wall, their facts are so densely enveloped by the ivy of fiction that it is impossible to delve them out.

The ballads and romances in which the King Arthur of mediæval story figures as the hero, would scarcely prove pleasant and profitable reading to us now, however greatly they delighted our ancestors. They are marked by a coarseness and crudity which would be but little to our taste. Nor have we anything of modern growth to replace them. Milton entertained a purpose of making King Arthur the hero of an epic poem, but fortunately yielded it for the nobler task of "Paradise Lost." Spenser gives this hero a minor place in his "Fairie Queen." Dryden projected a King Arthur epic, but failed to write it. Recently Bulwer has given us a cumbersome "King Arthur," which nobody reads; and Tennyson has handled the subject brilliantly in his "Idyls of the King," splendid successes as poems, yet too infiltrated with the spirit of modernism to be acceptable as a reproduction of the Arthur of romance. For a true rehabilitation of this hero of the age of chivalry we must go to the "Morte D'Arthur" of Sir Thomas Malory, a writer of the fifteenth century, who lived when men still wore armor, and so near to the actual age of chivalry as to be in full sympathy with the spirit of its fiction, and its pervading love of adventure and belief in the magical.

Malory did a work of high value in editing the confused mass of earlier fiction, lopping off its excrescences and redundancies, reducing its coarseness of speech, and producing from its many stories and episodes a coherent and continuous narrative, in which the adventures of the Round Table Knights are deftly interwoven with the record of the birth, life, and death of the king, round whom as the central figure all these knightly champions revolve. Malory seems to have used as the basis of his work perhaps one, perhaps several, old French prose romances, and possibly also material derived from Welsh and English ballads. Such material in his day was doubtless abundant. Geoffrey had drawn much of his legendary history from the ancient Welsh ballads. The mass of romantic fiction which he called history became highly popular, first in Brittany, and then in France, the Trouveres making Arthur, Lancelot, Tristram, Percival, and others of the knightly circle the heroes of involved romances, in which a multitude of new incidents were invented. The Minnesingers of Germany took up the same fruitful theme, producing a "Parzivale," a "Tristan and Isolt," and other heroic romances. From all this mass of material, Malory wrought his "Morte D'Arthur," as Homer wrought his "Iliad" from the preceding warlike ballads, and the unknown compiler of the "Nibelungenlied" wrought his poem from similar ancient sources.

Malory was not solely an editor. He was in a large sense a creator. It was coarse and crude material with which he had to deal, but in his hands its rude prose gained a degree of poetic fervor. The legends which he preserves he has in many cases transmuted from base into precious coin. There is repulsive matter in the old romances, which he freely cuts out. To their somewhat wooden heroes he gives life and character, so that in Lancelot, Gawaine, Dinadan, Kay, and others we have to deal with distinct personalities, not with the non-individualized hard-hitters of the romances. And to the whole story he gives an epic completeness which it lacked before. In the early days of Arthur's reign Merlin warns him that fate has already woven its net about him and that the sins of himself and his queen will in the end bring his reign to a violent termination, and break up that grand fellowship of the Round Table which has made Britain and its king illustrious. This epic character of Malory's work is pointed out in the article "Geoffrey of Monmouth" in the "Encyclopædia Britannica," whose writer says that the Arthurian legends "were converted into a magnificent prose poem by Sir Thomas Malory in 1461. Malory's Morte D'Arthur is as truly the epic of the English mind as the Iliad is the epic of the Greek mind."

Yet the "Morte D'Arthur," if epic in plan and treatment, is by no means free from the defects of primitive literature. It was written before the age of criticism, and confusion reigns supreme in many of its pages,—a confusion which a very little critical supervision might have removed. As an instance, we find that Galahad, two years after his birth, is made a knight, being then fifteen years old. In like manner the "seat perilous" at the Round Table is magically reserved for Galahad, the author evidently forgetting that he had already given it to Percivale. King Mark's murder of his brother Baldwin is revenged by Baldwin's grandson, thirty or forty years afterward, though there is nothing to show that the characters had grown a year older in the interval. Here a knight finds one antagonist quite sufficient for one man; there he does not hesitate to attack fifty at once; here a slight wound disables him; there a dozen deep wounds are fully healed by a night's rest. Many similar instances might be given, but these will suffice. The discrepancies here indicated were perhaps due to the employment of diverse legends, without care to bring them into accordance, but they lay the work open to adverse criticism.

This lack of critical accuracy may have been a necessary accompaniment of the credulous frame of mind that could render such a work possible. It needed an artlessness of mental make-up, a full capacity for acceptance of the marvellous, a simple-minded faith in chivalry and its doings, which could scarcely exist in common with the critical temperament. In truth, the flavor of an age of credulity and simplicity of thought everywhere permeates this quaint old work, than which nothing more artless, simple, and unique exists in literature, and nothing with a higher value as a presentation of the taste in fiction of our mediæval predecessors.

Yet the "Morte D'Arthur" is not easy or attractive reading, to other than special students of literature. Aside from its confusion of events and arrangement, it tells the story of chivalry with a monotonous lack of inflection that is apt to grow wearisome, and in a largely obsolete style and dialect with whose difficulties readers in general may not care to grapple. Its pages present an endless succession of single combats with spear and sword, whose details are repeated with wearisome iteration. Knights fight furiously for hours together, till they are carved with deep wounds, and the ground crimsoned with gore. Sometimes they are so inconsiderate as to die, sometimes so weak as to seek a leech, but as often they mount and ride away in philosophical disregard of their wounds, and come up fresh for as fierce a fight the next day.

As for a background of scenery and architecture, it scarcely exists. Deep interest in man and woman seems to have shut out all scenic accessories from the mind of the good old knight. It is always but a step from the castle to the forest, into which the knights-errant plunge, and where most of their adventures take place; and the favorite resting-and jousting-place is by the side of forest springs—or wells, as in the text. We have mention abundant of fair castles, fair valleys, fair meadows, and the like, the adjective "fair" going far to serve all needs of description. But in his human characters, with their loves and hates, jousts and battles, bewitchments and bewilderments, the author takes deep interest, and follows the episodical stories which are woven into the plot with a somewhat too satisfying fulness. In evidence of the dramatic character of many of these episodes we need but refer to the "Idyls of the King," whose various romantic and tragic narratives are all derived from this quaint "old master" of fictitious literature.

With all its faults of style and method, the "Morte D'Arthur" is a very live book. It never stops to moralize or philosophize, but keeps strictly to its business of tale-telling, bringing up before the reader a group of real men and women, not a series of lay-figures on a background of romance, as in his originals.

Kay with his satirical tongue, Dinadan with his love of fun, Tristram loving and noble, Lancelot bold and chivalrous, Gawaine treacherous and implacable, Arthur kingly but adventurous, Mark cowardly and base-hearted, Guenever jealous but queenly, Isolde tender and faithful, and a host of other clearly individualized knights and ladies move in rapid succession through the pages of the romance, giving it, with its manners of a remote age, a vital interest that appeals to modern tastes.

In attempting to adapt this old masterpiece to the readers of our own day, we have no purpose to seek to paraphrase or improve on Malory. To remove the antique flavor would be to destroy the spirit of the work. We shall leave it as we find it, other than to reduce its obsolete phraseology and crudities of style to modern English, abridge the narrative where it is wearisomely extended, omit repetitions and uninteresting incidents, reduce its confusion of arrangement, attempt a more artistic division into books and chapters, and by other arts of editorial revision seek to make it easier reading, while preserving as fully as possible those unique characteristics which have long made it delightful to lovers of old literature.

The task here undertaken is no light one, nor is success in it assured. Malory has an individuality of his own which gives a peculiar charm to his work, and to retain this in a modernized version is the purpose with which we set out and which we hope to accomplish. The world of to-day is full of fiction, endless transcripts of modern life served up in a great variety of palatable forms. Our castle-living forefathers were not so abundantly favored. They had no books,—and could not have read them if they had,—but the wandering minstrel took with them the place of the modern volume, bearing from castle to court, and court to castle, his budget of romances of magic and chivalry, and delighting the hard-hitting knights and barons of that day with stirring ballads and warlike tales to which their souls rose in passionate response.

In the "Morte D'Arthur" is preserved to us the pith of the best of those old romances, brought into a continuous narrative by one who lived when chivalry yet retained some of its vital hold on the minds of men, and who, being a knight himself, could enter with heartfelt sympathy into the deeds of the knights of an earlier age. Certainly many of the readers of modern fiction will find a pleasure in turning aside awhile from the hot-pressed thought of the nineteenth-century novel to this fresh and breezy outcrop from the fiction of an earlier day; with the double purpose of learning on what food the minds of our ancestors were fed, and of gaining a breath of wild perfume from the far-off field of the romance of chivalry. That the story of Arthur and his Knights can arouse in modern readers the intense interest with which it was received by mediæval auditors is not to be expected. We are too far removed in time and manners from the age of knight-errantry to enter deeply into sympathy with its unfamiliar ways. Yet a milder interest may still be awakened in what gave our predecessors such enthusiastic delight, and some at least may turn with pleasure from the most philosophic of modern novels to wander awhile through this primitive domain of thought.

To such we offer this work, which we have simply sought to make easy reading, with little further liberty with Malory's quaint prose than to put it into a modern dress, and with the hope that no such complete divorce exists between the world of the present and that of the past as to render the exploits of King Arthur and his Round Table Knights dull, wearisome, and profitless reading, void of the human interest which they once possessed in such large and satisfying measure.

KING ARTHUR AND THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE.

BOOK I. HOW ARTHUR WON THE THRONE.

 

CHAPTER I. THE MAGIC SWORD.

Once upon a time, in that far-off and famous era of chivalry and knight-errantry when wandering knights sought adventures far and wide throughout the land, and no damsel in distress failed to enlist a valiant champion in her cause, there reigned over England's broad realm a noble monarch, King Arthur by name, the flower of chivalry, and the founder of the world-renowned order of Knights of the Round Table. It is the story of this far-famed monarch, and of the wonderful and valorous deeds of his Knights, that we here propose to tell, as preserved in the ancient legends of the land, and set forth at length in the chronicles of the days of chivalry.

Before the days of Arthur the King, there reigned over all England Uther Pendragon, a monarch of might and renown. He died at length in years and honor, and after his death anarchy long prevailed in the land, for no son of his appeared to claim the throne, and many of the lords who were high in rank and strong in men sought to win it by force of arms, while everywhere lawlessness and wrong-doing made life a burden and wealth a deceit.

But by good fortune there still survived the famous magician Merlin, the master of all mysteries, who long had been the stay of Uther's throne, and in whose hands lay the destiny of the realm. For after years of anarchy, and when men had almost lost hope of right and justice, Merlin, foreseeing that the time for a change was at hand, went to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and bade him summon to London by Christmas day all the lords of the realm and the gentlemen of arms, for on that day a miracle would be shown by which would be decided who should be ruler of the kingless realm.

The summons was issued, and by Christmas-tide many lords and knights, the flower of England's chivalry, had gathered in London, most of them full of ambition and many of them buoyed up by hope. In the greatest church of that city prayers went up night and day, all who had been guilty of wrong-doing seeking to clear their souls of sin; for all believed that only through God's grace could any man come to dominion in the realm, and those who aspired to the throne ardently sought to make their peace with God.

On Christmas day, after the hour of matins and the first mass, came the miracle which Merlin had predicted; for there suddenly appeared before the high altar in the church-yard a great four-square block of stone, of the texture of marble, upon which stood an anvil of steel a foot in height; and through the anvil and deep into the stone was thrust a gleaming sword, upon which, in letters of gold, ran these words, "Whoso pulleth this sword out of this stone is of right born king of all England."

Whether Merlin performed this strange thing by magic, or it was a miracle of God's will, the chronicles say not, but all who saw it deeply marvelled, and word of it was brought to the archbishop in the church.

"Let no man stir," he enjoined. "This is God's doing, and must be dealt with gravely and solemnly. I command that all stay within the church and pray unto God until the high mass be done. Till then let no hand touch the sword."

And so the service went on until its end; but after it was done the audience hastened to behold the miracle, and some of the higher lords, who were ambitious for the throne, laid eager hold upon the sword and sought with all their strength to draw it. Yet all in vain they tugged; the mightiest among them could not stir the deep-thrust blade.

"The man is not here," said the archbishop, "who shall draw that sword; but God, in His own good season, will make him known. This, then, is my counsel: let us set ten knights, men of fame and honor, to guard the sword, and let every man that has faith in his good fortune seek to draw it. He who is the destined monarch of England will in time appear."

New Year's day came, and no man yet had drawn the sword, though many had adventured. For that day the barons had ordered that a stately tournament should be held, in which all knights who desired to break a lance for God and their ladies might take part. This was greeted with high acclaim, and after the services of the day had ended the barons and knights together rode to the lists, while multitudes of the citizens of London crowded thither to witness the knightly sports. Among those who rode were Sir Hector, a noble lord, who held domains in England and Wales, and with him his son Sir Kay, a new-made knight, and his younger son Arthur, a youth still too young for knighthood.

As they rode together to the lists, Kay discovered that he had forgotten his sword, having left it behind at his father's lodging. He begged young Arthur to ride back for it.

"Trust me to bring it," replied Arthur, readily, and turning his horse he rode briskly back to his father's lodging in the city. On reaching the house, however, he found it fast locked, all its inmates having gone to the tournament. The young man stood a moment in anger and indecision.

"My brother Kay shall not be without a sword," he said. "I remember seeing in the church-yard a handsome blade thrust into a stone, and seeming to want an owner. I shall ride thither and get that sword. It will serve Kay's turn."

He accordingly turned his horse and rode back in all haste. On reaching the church-yard he found no knights there, all those who had been placed on guard having gone to the jousting, exchanging duty for sport. Dismounting and tying his horse, he entered the tent which had been erected over the stone. There stood the magic sword, its jewelled hilt and half the shining blade revealed. Heedless of the inscription on the polished steel, and ignorant of its lofty promise,—for the miracle had been kept secret by the knights,—young Arthur seized the weapon strongly by the hilt and gave the magic sword a vigorous pull. Then a wondrous thing happened, which it was a pity there were none to see; for the blade came easily out of stone and steel, as though they were yielding clay, and lay naked in his hand. Not knowing the might and meaning of what he had done, and thinking of naught but to keep his word, the young man mounted his horse and rode to the field, where he delivered the sword to his brother Sir Kay.

"I have brought your sword," he said.

The young knight started with surprise on beholding the blade, and gazed on it with wonder and trepidation. It was not his, he knew, and he recognized it at sight for the magic blade. But ambition quickly banished the wonder from his heart, and he rode hastily to his father, Sir Hector, exclaiming,—

"Behold! Here is the sword of the stone! I that bear it am the destined king of England's realm."

Sir Hector looked at him in doubt, and beheld the blade he bore with deep surprise.

"When and how did you obtain it?" he demanded. "Back to the church! Come with us, Arthur. Here is a mystery that must be explained."

Reaching the church, he made Kay swear upon the book how he came by that weapon, for greatly he doubted.

 "I have not said I drew it," Kay replied, sullenly. "In truth, it was not achieved by me. Arthur brought me the sword."

"Arthur!" cried the lord. "Arthur brought it! How got you it, boy?"

"I pulled it from the stone," replied the youth. "Kay sent me home for his sword, but the house was empty and locked; and as I did not wish my brother to be without a weapon, I rode hither and pulled this blade out of the stone. Was there aught strange in that? It came out easily enough."

"Were there no knights about it?"

"None, sir."

"Then the truth is plain. God's will has been revealed. You are the destined king of England."

"I?" cried Arthur, in surprise. "Wherefore I?"

"God has willed it so," repeated the baron. "But I must first learn for myself if you have truly drawn the sword. Can you put it back again?"

"I can try," said Arthur, and with an easy thrust he sunk the blade deeply into the stone.

Then Sir Hector and Kay pulled at the hilt with all their strength, but failed to move the weapon.

"Now you shall try," they said to Arthur.

Thereupon the youth seized the hilt, and with a light effort the magic sword came out naked in his hand.

"You are our king!" cried Sir Hector, kneeling on the earth, and Kay beside him.

"My dear father and brother," cried Arthur in surprise and distress, "why kneel you to me? Rise, I pray; it pains me deeply to see you thus."

"I am not your father nor of your kindred," rejoined the baron. "I must now reveal the secret I long have kept. You were brought to me in infancy, and I and my wife have fostered you as our own. But you are no son of mine. Who you truly are I cannot say; that only Merlin the magician knows. But well I feel assured you are of nobler blood than I can boast."

These words filled Arthur with heartfelt pain. He had long revered the worthy knight as his father, and it grieved him deeply to learn that those whom he had so warmly loved were not of kin to him.

"Sir," said Hector, "will you be my good and gracious lord when you are king?"

"You, my father, and your good lady, my mother,—to whom else in all the world am I so beholden?" rejoined Arthur, warmly. "God forbid that I should fail you in whatever you may desire, if by His will and grace I shall be made king."

"This only I ask of you," said the baron: "that you make Kay, my son and your foster-brother, the seneschal of all your lands."

"By the faith of my body, I promise," said Arthur. "No man but he shall have that office while he and I live."

These words said, Sir Hector went to the archbishop and told him, much to his surprise, of the marvel that had been performed. By the advice of the prelate it was kept secret until Twelfth Day, when the barons came again, and another effort was made to draw the sword.

After all had tried and failed, Arthur was brought forward, and while many sneered at his youth and asked why a boy had been brought thither, he seized the hilt and lightly drew the blade from the stone. Then all stood aghast in wonder, marvelling greatly to see a youth perform the feat which the strongest knights in the kingdom had attempted in vain; but many beheld it with bitter anger and hostile doubt.

"Who is this boy?" they cried. "What royal blood can he claim? Shall we and the realm of England be shamed by being governed by a base-born churl? There is fraud or magic in this."

So high ran the tide of adverse feeling that the archbishop finally decided that another trial should be had at Candlemas, ten knights meanwhile closely guarding the stone. And when Candlemas day arrived there came many more great lords, each eager for the throne; but, as before, of all there none but Arthur could draw the magic sword.

Again was there envy and hostility, and another trial was loudly demanded, the time being fixed for Easter. This ended as before, and at the demand of the angry lords a final trial was arranged for the feast of Pentecost. The archbishop now, at Merlin's suggestion, surrounded Arthur with a bodyguard of tried warriors, some of whom had been Uther Pendragon's best and worthiest knights; for it was feared that some of his enemies might seek to do him harm. They were bidden to keep watch over him day and night till the season of Pentecost, for there were lords that would have slain him had they dared.

At the feast of Pentecost lords and knights gathered again, but in vain they all essayed to draw the magic sword. Only to the hand of Arthur would it yield, and he pulled it lightly from the stone and steel in the presence of all the lords and commons. Then cried the commons in loud acclaim,—

"Arthur shall be our king! We will have none to reign over us but him! Let there be no more delay. God has willed that he shall be England's king, and he that holdeth out longer against the will of God that man shall we slay."

Then rich and poor alike kneeled before Arthur, hailed him as king, and craved his pardon for their long delay. He forgave them freely, and taking the sword between his hands, laid it upon the altar before the archbishop. This done, he was made a knight by the worthiest warrior there, and thus taken into that noble fellowship of chivalry which he was destined by his valor and virtue to so richly adorn.

Shortly afterward Arthur was crowned king, with great pomp and ceremony, before a noble assemblage of the lords and ladies of the realm, taking solemn oath at the coronation to be true king to lords and commons, and to deal justice to all while he should live.

Justice, indeed, was greatly and urgently demanded, for many wrongs had been done since the death of King Uther, and numerous complaints were laid before the throne. All these evils Arthur redressed, forcing those who had wrongfully taken the lands of others to return them, and demanding that all should submit to the laws of the realm. In compliance with his promise, Sir Kay was made seneschal of England, while other knights were appointed to the remaining high offices of the realm, and all the needs of the kingdom duly provided for. Thus the famous reign of King Arthur auspiciously began, with God's and man's blessing upon its early days.

CHAPTER II.ARTHUR'S WARS AND THE MYSTERY OF HIS BIRTH.

After Arthur was crowned king he removed into Wales, where he gave orders that a great feast should be held on the coming day of Pentecost, at the city of Carlion. On the day appointed for the feast there appeared before Carlion the Kings of Lothian and Orkney, Gore, Garloth, Carados, and Scotland, each with a large following of knights. Their coming greatly pleased King Arthur, who believed that they desired to do honor to his reign, and he sent presents of great value to them and to their knights.

These they disdainfully refused, sending back a hostile challenge by the messenger, and saying that they had not come to receive gifts from a beardless boy, of ignoble blood, but to present him gifts with hard swords between neck and shoulder. It was a shame, they said, to see such a boy at the head of so noble a realm, and this wrong should be redressed at their hands.

On receiving this defiant message, Arthur threw himself, with five hundred good men, into a strong tower near Carlion, for he was ill prepared for attack. There he was closely besieged by his foes, but the castle was well victualled, and held out stoutly against its assailants.

During the siege Merlin appeared suddenly among the kings, and told them privately who Arthur really was, assuring them that he was of nobler blood than themselves, and was destined long to remain king of England, and to reduce Scotland, Ireland, and Wales to his sway. Some of the hostile monarchs believed the magician's story, but others doubted it, King Lot of Orkney laughing him to scorn, while some among them called him a prating wizard.

But it was agreed that they should hold a conference with Arthur, they promising if he came out to them to place no hindrance to his safe return. Merlin then sought the king and advised him to accept the conference, telling him that he had nothing to fear. Thereupon Arthur armed himself, and taking with him the Archbishop of Canterbury and several noble knights, went out boldly to meet his foes.

The conference was an angry and bitter one, the kings speaking strongly, and Arthur answering them with stout words of defiance, in which he told them plainly that if he lived he would make them bow to his throne. In the end they parted in wrath, the kings returning to their camp and Arthur to the tower.

"What do you propose to do?" said Merlin to the kings. "If you take a wise man's advice you will withdraw, for I tell you that you shall not prevail here, were you ten times as many."

"We are not the men to be advised by a dream-reader," answered King Lot. "If you are the wise man you say, you will take yourself away." At this reply Merlin magically vanished from among them, and immediately appeared to King Arthur in the tower, bidding him boldly to sally forth and attack his enemies, and trust to fortune and valor for success. Meanwhile three hundred of the best knights of the kings had deserted their ranks and come to join him, much to his comfort, for he had been greatly outnumbered.

"Sir," said Merlin, "fight not with the sword that you had by miracle, till you see things go to the worst; then draw it out and strike shrewdly for your throne."

These words said, Arthur sallied from the tower at the head of all his knights, and fell fiercely on the besiegers in their camp. All went down before his bold assault, the hosts of the hostile kings retreating in dismay. Great deeds were done that day, Sir Kay and other knights slaying all before them, while Arthur laid on nobly, and did such marvellous feats of arms that all who saw him wondered greatly, for until now he had been an untried youth. While the combat thus went on in Arthur's favor in front, King Lot and others of the kings made a detour and set fiercely upon his force from the rear, causing momentary dismay in his ranks. But Arthur wheeled alertly with his knights, and smote vigorously to right and left, keeping always in the foremost press, till his horse was slain beneath him, and he hurled to the ground.

King Lot took instant advantage of this, and with a mighty blow prostrated the unhorsed king. But his knights hastily surrounded him, drove back his crowding foes, and set him on horseback again. And now King Arthur drew the magic sword, and as he waved it in the air there flashed from it a gleaming lustre that blinded the eyes of his enemies. Back they went before him, many of them falling under his mighty blows, while his valiant knights followed hotly in the track of the flaming sword, and the enemy fled in panic fear.

Then the people of Carlion, seeing the enemy in retreat, came out with clubs and staves, and fell upon the defeated host, killing numbers of the dismounted knights; while the hostile kings, with such of their followers as remained alive, fled in all haste from the disastrous field, leaving the victory to Arthur and his knights.

Thus ended in victory the first battle of Arthur's famous reign. It was but the prelude to a greater one, the mighty deeds of which the chroniclers tell at great length, but of which we shall give but brief record. It was predicted by Merlin, who told the king that he should have to fight far more strongly for his crown, that the defeated kings would get others to join them, and would ere long proceed against him with a mighty force.

"I warn you," he said to the king and his council, "that your enemies are very strong, for they have entered into alliance with four other kings and a mighty duke, and unless our king obtain powerful allies he shall be overcome and slain."

 "What then shall we do?" asked the barons.

"I shall tell you," said Merlin. "There are two brethren beyond the sea, both kings, and marvellously valiant men. One of these is King Ban of Benwick, and the other King Bors of Gaul. These monarchs are at war with a mighty warrior, King Claudas. My counsel then is, that our king ask the aid of these monarchs in his wars, and engage in return to help them in their war with their foe."

"It is well counselled," said the king and his barons.

Accordingly two knights with letters were sent across the seas, and after various adventures reached the camp of Kings Ban and Bors. These valiant monarchs gladly responded to Arthur's request, and, leaving their castles well guarded, came with ten thousand of their best men to the aid of the youthful king. Then were held great feasts, and a noble tournament was given on All-hallowmas day, at which Sir Kay carried off the honors of the lists and received the prize of valor.

But sport had soon to give place to war, for the hostile kings, now eleven in all, with a host of fifty thousand mounted men and ten thousand footmen, were marching upon King Arthur's camp, then at the Castle of Bedegraine, in Sherwood forest.

Two nights before the hosts met in battle, one of the hostile leaders, known as the king with the hundred knights, dreamed a wondrous dream. It seemed to him that there came a mighty wind, which blew down all their castles and towns, and that then there came a great flood and carried all away. All who heard this dream said that it was a token of great battle, but by its portent none were dismayed, for they felt too secure in their strength to heed the warning of a dream.

Soon the two armies drew together, and encamped at no great distance asunder. Then, by advice of Merlin, a midnight attack was made by Arthur and his allies upon the host of the eleven kings, as they lay sleeping in their tents. But their sentinels were alert, the sound of the coming host reached their wakeful ears, and loud the cry ran through the camp:

"To arms! lords and knights, to arms! The enemy is upon us! To arms! to arms!"

On like a wave of war came the force of Arthur, Ban, and Bors. The tents were overthrown, and all the valor of the eleven kings was needed to save their army from defeat. So fiercely went the assault that by day-dawn ten thousand of their men lay dead upon the field, while Arthur's loss was but small.

By Merlin's advice, while it was yet dark the forces of Ban and Bors had been placed in ambush in the forest. Then Arthur, with his own army of twenty thousand men, set fiercely on the overwhelming force of the foe, and deeds of mighty prowess were done, men falling like leaves, and many knights of tried valor staining the earth with their blood.

Fiercely went the combat, hand to hand and blade to blade, till the field was strewn with the dead, while none could tell how the battle would end. But when Kings Ban and Bors broke from their ambush, with ten thousand fresh men, the tide of battle turned against the foe. Back they went, step by step, many of their men taking to flight, and hundreds falling in death. King Bors did marvellous deeds of arms. King Ban, whose horse was killed, fought on foot like an enraged lion, standing among dead men and horses, and felling all who came within reach of his sword. As for King Arthur, his armor was so covered with crimson stains that no man knew him, and his horse went fetlock deep in blood.

When night approached, the hostile force was driven across a little stream, the eleven warrior kings still valiantly facing the victorious foe.

Then came Merlin into the press of struggling knights, mounted on a great black horse, and cried to Arthur,—

"Wilt thou never have done? Of threescore thousand men this day thou hast left alive but fifteen thousand, and it is time to cry, Halt! I bid you withdraw, for if you continue the battle fortune will turn against you. As for these kings, you will have no trouble with them for three years to come, for more than forty thousand Saracens have landed in their country, and are burning and despoiling all before them."

This advice was taken, and the defeated kings were allowed to withdraw the remnant of their forces without further harm, while King Arthur richly rewarded his allies and their knights from the treasure found in the hostile camp.

Thus was King Arthur seated firmly on his throne. But who he was he knew not yet, for the mystery that lay over his birth Merlin had never revealed. After the battle Merlin went to his master Bleise, who dwelt in Northumberland, and told him the events of the mighty contest. These Bleise wrote down, word by word, as he did the after-events of King Arthur's reign, and the deeds of his valiant knights. And so was made the chronicle of the great achievements of arms, and the adventures of errant knights, from which this history is drawn.

Of some things that Merlin further did we must here speak. While Arthur dwelt in the castle of Bedegraine, Merlin came to him so disguised that the king knew him not. He was all befurred in black sheepskins, with a great pair of boots and a bow and arrows, and brought wild geese in his hand, as though he had been a huntsman.

"Sir," he said to the king, "will you give me a gift?"

"Why should I do so, churl?" asked the king.

"You had better give me a gift from what you have in hand than to lose great riches which are now out of your reach; for here, where the battle was fought, is great treasure hidden in the earth."

"Who told you that, churl?"

"Merlin told me so."

Then was the king abashed, for he now knew that it was Merlin who spoke, and it troubled him that he had not known his best friend.

Afterward, on a day when Arthur had been hunting in the forest, and while he sat in deep thought over a strange dream he had dreamed and some sinful deeds he had done, there came to him a child of fourteen years, and asked him why he was so pensive.

"I may well be so," replied Arthur, "for I have much to make me think."

 "I know that well," said the seeming child, "also who thou art and all thy thoughts. I can tell thee who was thy father and how and when thou wert born."

"That is false," rejoined the king. "How should a boy of your years know my father?"

"He was Uther Pendragon, the king," replied the seeming boy, "and you are of royal blood."

"How can you know that? I will not believe you without better proof," said Arthur.

At these words the child departed, but quickly after there came to the king an old man of fourscore years.

"Why are you so sad?" asked the old man.

"For many things," replied Arthur. "Here but now was a child who told me things which it seems to me he could not know."

"He told you the truth," said the old man, "and would have told you more if you had listened. This I am bidden to tell you, that you have done things which have displeased God, and that your sister shall bear a son who will destroy you and all the knights of your land. That is the meaning of your dream in which griffons and serpents burnt and slew all before them, and wounded you to the death."

"Who are you," said Arthur, "that tell me these things?"

"I am Merlin," replied the old man. "And I was the child who came to you."

"You are a marvellous man," replied Arthur. "But how can you know that I shall die in battle?"

"How I know matters not, but this much more I am bidden to tell you: your death will be a noble one; but I shall die a shameful death, and shall be put in the earth alive for my follies. Such is the voice of destiny."

While they conversed thus, horses were brought to the king, and he and Merlin mounted and rode to Carlion. Here Arthur told Sir Hector what he had heard, and asked if it were true.

"I believe it to be the truth," answered the old baron. "Merlin has told me that the child he brought to my castle was the son of King Uther Pendragon and of Queen Igraine, his wife."

But Arthur was not yet convinced, and sent in all haste for Queen Igraine, who dwelt in a castle not far away, and came quickly with Morgan le Fay, her daughter, a fair lady, and one who had been taught all the arts of necromancy.

The king welcomed her with rich cheer, and made a feast in her honor, without saying why he had asked her to his court. But when the feast was at its height, Sir Ulfius, the chamberlain, and a knight of worth and honor, rose in the midst, and boldly accused the queen of falsehood and treason.

"Beware what you say," cried the king. "Those are strong words, and this lady is my guest."

"I am well advised of what I say," replied Ulfius, "and here is my glove to prove it upon any man who shall deny it. I declare that Queen Igraine is the cause of your great wars and of deep damage to your throne. Had she told in the life of King Uther of the birth of her son you would have been spared your wars, for most of your barons know not to-day of what blood you were born. Therefore I declare her false to God, to you, and to all your realm, and if any man shall say me nay I stand ready to prove it upon his body."

"I am a woman, and I may not fight," said Queen Igraine to this. "But there are men here will take my quarrel. Merlin will bear me witness that it was King Uther's wish, for reasons of state, that the birth of my child should be concealed, and if you seek a traitor you should accuse Uther Pendragon and not me. At its birth the child was wrapped in cloth of gold, by order of the king, and taken from me, and from that day to this I have not set eyes upon my son."

"Then," said Ulfius, "Merlin is more to blame than you."

"I bowed to the will of my husband," replied the queen. "After the death of my lord, the Duke of Tintagil, King Uther married me, and I bore him a son, but I know not what has become of my child."

Then Merlin took the king by the hand and led him to Queen Igraine.

"This is your mother," he said.

Therewith, Sir Hector bore witness how the child has been brought by Merlin to the postern gate of his castle, wrapped in cloth of gold, and how he had reared him as his own son, knowing not who he was, but full sure he was of high birth.

These words removed all doubt from Arthur's mind, and with warm affection he took his mother in his arms, and kissed her lovingly, while tears of joy flowed freely from the eyes of mother and son, for never was gladder meeting than that which there took place.

For eight days thereafter feasts and sports were held at the castle, and great joy fell upon all men to learn that the son of great Uther Pendragon had come to the throne. And far and wide the story spread through the land that he who had drawn the magic sword was the rightful heir to England's crown.

CHAPTER III. THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

On a day at the end of the feasts given by King Arthur in honor of his mother, there came into the court a squire, who bore before him on his horse a knight that had been wounded unto death. He told how a stranger knight in the forest had set up a pavilion by a well, and forced all who passed to joust with him. This stranger had slain his master, and he begged that some champion would revenge the slain knight.

Then rose Griflet, a youthful squire who had done good service in the wars, and begged to be knighted, that he might undertake this adventure.

"Thou art but young for such a task," said Arthur.

"I beseech you for the honor of it," pleaded Griflet. "I have done you knightly service."

Thereupon he was knighted and armed, and rode at day-dawn with a high heart into the forest. But by night-fall back he came, with a spear-thrust through his body, and scarce able to sit his horse for weakness. He had met the knight, and barely escaped with his life.

This angered the king, and he determined to undertake the adventure himself, and to seek to punish the daring knight who had planted himself, with hostile purpose, so near his court. By his order his best armor and horse were set before day at a point outside the city, and at day-dawn he met there his squire and rode with him secretly into the forest.

On the way thither he met three churls, who were chasing Merlin and seeking to slay him. The king rode to them and sternly bade them desist, and on seeing a knight before them they fled in craven fear.

"O Merlin," cried Arthur, "for all your craft you would have been slain, had I not come to your aid."

"Not so. I but played with these churls," said Merlin. "I could have saved myself easily enough. You are far more near your end than I, for unless God be your friend you ride to your death."

As they conversed they came to the forest fountain, and saw there a rich pavilion, while under a cloth stood a fair horse, richly saddled and bridled, and on a tree was a shield of varied colors and a great spear. In a chair near by sat an armed knight.

"How is it, sir knight," asked the king, sternly, "that you abide here and force every knight that passes to joust with you? It is an ill custom, and I bid you cease it."

 "He who is grieved with my custom may amend it if he will," said the knight.

"I shall amend it," said Arthur.

"I shall defend it," replied the knight.

With these words they mounted, placed their spears in rest, and put their horses to their speed. Together they came in mid career with such violence and equal fortune that both spears were shivered to splinters, but both knights remained in their saddles. Taking new spears, once more they rode, and once again met in mid course with the same fortune as before. Then Arthur set hand to his sword.

"Nay," said the knight. "You are the best jouster of all the men I ever met. For the love of the high order of knighthood let us break another spear."

"I agree," said Arthur.

Two more spears were brought them, and again they rode together with all the might and speed of their horses. Arthur's spear once more shivered into splinters from point to handle. But the knight struck him so fairly in the centre of his shield that horse and man together fell to the earth.

Then Arthur drew his sword eagerly and cried:

"Sir knight, I have lost the honor of horseback, and will fight you on foot."

"I will meet you on horse," replied the knight.

Angry at this, Arthur advanced towards him with ready shield and sword. But the knight, feeling that he was taking a noble adversary at unfair advantage, dismounted, and advanced to meet Arthur on foot.

 Then began a mighty battle, in which many great sword-strokes were made, and much blood was lost by both antagonists. After the affray had long continued the two warriors by chance struck so evenly together that their swords met in mid air, and the weapon of the knight smote that of Arthur into two pieces.

"You are in my power," cried the knight. "Yield you as overcome and recreant, or you shall die."

"As for death," said Arthur, "it will be welcome when it comes, but I had rather die than be so shamed."

Thus saying, he leaped upon his foeman, took him by the middle with a vigorous grip, and threw him to the earth. Then he tore off his helmet. The knight, however, was much the larger and stronger man, and in his turn brought Arthur under him, deprived him of his helmet, and lifted his sword to strike off his head.

At this perilous moment Merlin advanced.

"Knight, hold thy hand," he cried. "You little know in what peril you put this realm, or who the warrior is beneath your sword."

"Who is he?" asked the knight.

"He is King Arthur."

Then would the knight have slain Arthur for fear of his wrath, and raised his sword again to do so, but at that moment Merlin threw him into an enchanted sleep.

"What have you done, Merlin?" cried Arthur. "God grant you have not slain this worthy knight by your craft! I would yield a year of my dominion to have him alive again."

 "Do not fear," said Merlin. "He is asleep only, and will awake within three hours. And this I shall tell you, there is not a stronger knight in your kingdom than he, and hereafter he will do you good service. His name is King Pellinore, and he shall have two noble sons, whose names will be Percivale and Lamorak of Wales. And this brave knight shall, in the time to come, tell you the name of that son of your sister who is fated to be the destruction of all this land."

This being said, the king and the magician departed, leaving the knight to his magic slumbers. Soon they reached the cell of a hermit who was a noted leech, and who, with healing salves, in three days cured the king's wounds so that he was able to ride again. As they now went forward, through forest and over plain, Arthur said,—

"I have no sword. I shall be ill put to it should I meet a champion."

"Heed not that," said Merlin. "That loss will be soon repaired."

And so they rode till they came to a lake, a broad and fair sheet of water, that stretched far before their eyes. As the king stood and looked upon it, he saw in its midst, to his deep wonder, an arm clothed in white samite lift itself above the water, and in the hand appeared a glittering sword, that gleamed brightly in the sun's rays.

"Lo! yonder is the sword I spoke of," said Merlin.

Then another wonder met their eyes, for a woman came walking towards them upon the surface of the lake.